


He Will Be Okay Again

by edwardtho



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Feels, Dark, Dark Sans, Depressed Sans, Depression, Dissociation, Drunk Sans, Eventual skelebro fluff, Gen, I'm Sorry, Misery, Pain, Post-Canon, Post-Game(s), Post-Pacifist Route, Sad, Sans Remembers Resets, Sans-centric, Suicidal Sans, Suicide Attempt, as usual, i love you sans, sans is so miserable, skelebros, so much pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-06 18:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6765706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edwardtho/pseuds/edwardtho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adjusting to life on the surface was hard for everyone, but after so many resets, Sans finds that he can't cope with a constantly forward-moving timeline and all but refuses to adjust. Once he realizes this for himself, Papyrus comes up with an unconventional type of therapy for his brother.</p>
<p>This story is based on the "Rehab Cabin DLC" by Sansybones and Withtheworms</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Isolating Self from Family and Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo Undertale peeps who wants some angst and skelebro fluff?!?!? *raises hand excitedly*
> 
> Like I said in the Summary, this fic is based on the [Rehab Cabin DLC](http://rehabcabin.tumblr.com/) by [Sansybones](http://sansybones.tumblr.com/) and [Withtheworms.](http://withtheworms.tumblr.com/) If you like this please go tell them how great they are!!!
> 
> I hope you guys like it!

Papyrus stood in the doorway, gaping at the room before him. He tended not to go in his brother's room, because Sans was an incredibly private person and got angry with him if he went in uninvited, however this morning Papyrus had damn good reason to intrude.

 

Perhaps this was why he never wanted anyone in his room, Papyrus thought through his shock as he glanced around. The condition of it was . . . god. It smelled like what he assumed death would smell like, and it looked far, far worse.

 

It was a small room, considerably smaller than Papyrus's own room. Sans had given his brother the larger room without hesitation, because of their difference in size and the notion that “cleaning a small room was easier than cleaning a big room.” Papyrus had never struggled with cleaning his own room, though. Not in this house nor their house back in Snowdin. He liked cleaning, found it easy, and rather relaxing, and it kept his spirits high when he was always in a good, clean environment. Sans, however, hardly cleaned his room before they had even gotten to the surface. For whatever reason, Papyrus had thought that perhaps a new home would change that nasty habit. It hadn't been a very rational idea, but this . . . the way it was now . . . Papyrus would never have expected that it would get this bad.

 

Dirty clothes and dishes, and trash such as empty beer cans and cigarette packs and chip bags littered practically every square inch of the room. The only bit of brown carpet he could make out was exactly where he was standing, a little more than a foot in front of the door that only allowed for opening and closing it. Under his boot, he noticed a red stain which was most likely spaghetti sauce or ketchup, although he couldn't make it out very well. It was very dark in the room, and Papyrus wondered why until he realized that the windows had been covered with blankets.

 

How in God's name did Sans live like this?

 

He attempted to gather himself, and trudged through the sea of garbage, stepping lightly just in case there was something breakable on the floor. Almost as if to answer that idea, Papyrus heard a faint jingling and recognized it as broken glass. He sighed. It was a good thing bone didn't cut very easily.

 

Papyrus approached his brother's bedside tentatively. The ashtray on his nightstand was overflowing with cigarette butts, some of them had even been stubbed out directly on the tabletop. His alarm clock showed no time. He'd probably unplugged it.

 

He felt a small jolt of anger. How did Sans expect to keep a job when he didn't even plug in his alarm clock. Did he even care about his half of the bills?

 

“Sans,” Papyrus said urgently, “Sans, wake up.”

 

A small moan that could've well been the last noise of a shot animal came from the lump under the covers that was his brother. There was no cover sheet on the bed, and the matress had several burn marks on it.

 

“Sans, your boss called the house. He said your cell phone went straight to voice mail, and that you'll be canned if you aren't there by two.”

 

Sans curled tighter in on himself, but otherwise didn't move. “Call him back,” he said in a monotone voice that was slightly muffled under the covers, “And tell him he can stick his balls in a fucking blender for all I care.” Something about his voice told Papyrus that he hadn't really been asleep, but rather just laying there doing nothing. No surprise there.

 

Exasperated, he sighed. “Sans I am not going to tell him that. It's not that hard, just get up and get dressed. I'll drive you there”

 

“No”

 

“Sans, please. We're already a month behind on the car insurance,” Papyrus said, starting to feel nervous, “If you get fired, this will be the third job in two months. You can't keep this up. Too many bad references and people won't hire-”

 

“I said no.”

 

“Sans!”

 

Sans rolled over and peeked over the top of the covers with a huff. His eyes were pitch black, sending a violent chill down Papyrus's spine. “Why are you in my room?”

 

“Wh- I just-” Papyrus looked back at him incredulously, “I just said! Because your boss called me and I don't want you losing another job!”

 

“Okay, but I told you I want you to stay out of here.”

 

Was he really going to focus on that? Really? His job was at stake and he was going to complain about his little brother coming into his room like a teenager?

 

Papyrus took a deep breath and tried to reign in the anger that was boiling in his metaphorical chest. “Sans, I know it isn't easy, but we're _all_ trying to adjust to our new lives and I know it's hard but you can't just-”

 

“Please don't fucking lecture me.”

 

“I'm not-”



 

“I'm sorry I'm not adjusting at the right pace for you,” he said, sounding extremely irritated, “Regardless, I'm not going to work.” Sans' hand covered his eyes. There was a small ketchup stain on his cheekbone.

 

“Sans.”

 

“Look. I'm doing my best, okay? I just can't go today. I'll find another job, I swear. I just- not today. I can't do it today.”

 

Papyrus stared at him and struggled to keep his voice even “Doing your best? Sans, look at this room!”

 

“Please go away,” he pleaded. His voice shuddered, “Please just leave me alone.”

 

“Brother . . .”

 

“None of this even matters anyway.”

 

“Tell that to State Farm” Papyrus said bitterly. Then he softened at the expression on Sans' face. He looked like he was going to cry.

 

Then, Papyrus spotted something on the wall, just above his brother's head. He didn't need much light to notice the white marks raked across the blue paint at the head of his bed. He moved closer to get a better look, gasping quietly when he realized what they were.

 

“Oh my God. Are those . . . _scratch marks_?“

 

Sans said nothing, shifting uncomfortably and actively avoiding eye contact.

 

“Have the nightmares been that bad?” Papyrus asked worriedly. He thought back. He hadn't remembered hearing Sans screaming in the middle of the night recently, and while this new house had much better insulation than their old one had, Papyrus was a light sleeper and woke up 99% of the time that Sans had nightmares (which was very often). He couldn't imagine not hearing him scratching on the walls.

 

Sans shrugged casually, “I mean, they always are, but I don't even remember doing that. It might have happened in my sleep, I guess. Or maybe I was bored and tried to make my room more rock 'n roll. I don't fucking know.”

 

Papyrus didn't know what to say. He made himself look away from the marks, and instead focused on a small hole that was burned into the mattress

 

The two brothers sat in awkward silence for several minutes.

 

Finally, Papyrus spoke up. “Is there anything I can do or say that will convince you to go to work?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Are you okay?” he already knew what Sans was going to answer, and what the truth was.

 

“Of course, bro.” Papyrus had assumed correctly.

 

“What if I came and picked up a few things in here?”

 

“Nah, it's whatever. I'll get to it at some point.” Sans said. Of course he would get to it, Papyrus thought. The mental image of the sock with the sticky notes all over it on their floor in the old house flashed in his mind. They hadn't packed it when they moved, so it was most likely _still_ on the floor of that house and would probably stay there until the end of time. Yeah, of course he'll clean his room at some point.

 

“It's not any trouble, really,” Papyrus said, worrying a little more with each second that passed, “You know I like to clean.”

 

Sans sighed. “I'd really rather just be alone right now. What if you went and hung out with Undyne and Alphy for a while? You haven't been over there in a few days.”

 

Truthfully, Papyrus had already planned on doing that after bringing Sans to work, and while he had been looking forward to seeing his friends again nothing about this situation was sitting right with him, which dimmed his excitement considerably. He didn't know if it would be more helpful for him to stay or leave, or if either one would be helpful at all. It was hard to tell these things where his brother was concerned.

 

Sans must have noticed the puzzled and torn look on Papyrus's face, because he sat up a little and answered it with, “Bro, I'm okay. Really. I'm not feeling up to the socializing thing right now, but I swear I'm okay.”

 

Papyrus was nauseated (an impressive feat for a being without a stomach) at how easily that lie slipped from his brother's teeth. “Can I at least take the blanket off of the window?” he asked tentatively.

 

Sans looked at him for a long, long time, then fixed his stare on his own lap, which was covered with his pink and purple flower comforter. He seemed to concentrate hard on the flowers, grimacing a little. “I mean . . . ugh, yeah. I guess. If it makes you feel better.” He leaned over and grabbed a black lighter and his pack of Marlboro lights off of the nightstand. He made great effort to avoid eye contact as he stuck one between his teeth and lit up, inhaling as deeply as a creature with lungs might inhale oxygen after being underwater for too long.

 

Papyrus wrinkled his nose. He hated the smell of those things. And of course, no matter how many times he begged Sans not to smoke them in the house, he did it anyway. That wasn't worth arguing about right now though, he decided with a resigned sigh as he got up again to wade through the trash. He nearly tripped over an empty ice cream tub, and huffed an angry “Nyeh” as he kicked it out of his way.

 

He heard a disgusting squishing sound and looked down to see that he'd stepped in a puddle of half-congealed ketchup. He cringed and decided that he'd wash his boots before he went to Undyne's, and maybe take another shower. Just being in Sans' room made him feel gross.

 

_How did Sans live like this?_ He asked himself for what seemed like the hundredth time today.

 

He wondered vaguely how long it had been since the last time his brother had taken a shower as he approached the covered window. He pulled the blanket down with a hard yank, and sunlight flooded the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sans flinch as if he'd been slapped.

 

“There we are!” Papyrus said, trying to sound cheerful, “Drink in that beautiful sun! Doesn't it make you just want to get out into the world?”

 

“God. My fucking head,” Sans groaned to himself, rubbing his temple with his free hand.

 

Papyrus took that as a no, but continued his fake cheeriness. “Would you like to come to Undyne's with me? The girls have been complaining about not seeing you, and you can't very well stay cooped up in the house all day!”

 

He turned away from the window to face his brother, who was dragging on his cigarette without any trace of emotion on his face. In the light, he could see the dark circles under his eyes, and the way his eyelids drooped down as if too heavy to open all the way. He looked horrible.

 

“Bro,” he said in a tired voice, “I told you. I'm not up for socializing today. That doesn't mean just work, it means socializing at all. If you weren't the only person I cared about, I would've thrown you out by now.” He made a humorless laugh.

 

Papyrus deflated a little. For whatever reason, in that moment he'd actually gotten excited for the idea of bringing Sans with him. That was dumb. He looked down at his boots and gave a quiet “Right,” and began to trudge back to the door.

 

“I'm sorry,” the words coming from Sans were so faint he almost didn't hear them.

 

Papyrus turned his head but continued towards the door. “If I leave you a few garbage bags, will you pick up a little while I'm gone?”

 

Sans looked down and took a puff of his cigarette, but didn't answer.

 

Papyrus had expected as much.

 

“Do you need any food?” he asked, his tone becoming gentle, as if he were caring for a cancer patient, “Would you like me to bring the Playstation up here?”

 

Sans shook his head, considered the offer for a moment, and then said, “Could you bring me some ketchup and the clear bottle in the fridge?”

 

“Sans it is noon, you don't need vodka. Or ketchup for that matter.”

 

Sans didn't reply.

 

“You need real food. Something, oh I don't know,” Papyrus grinned as genuinely as he could, “Something _rib_ -sticking?”

 

Sans tried to smile back and let out a breathy, noncommittal laugh. Papyrus knew it was forced. He frowned. That was the best he was going to get out of him today.

 

Knowing there wasn't much he could do, he retreated through the already-open door and closed it shut behind him, fighting the urge to break down and bawl.

 

He's still adjusting, he thought to himself, everyone had had a hard time adjusting, and Sans had never been the best at the 'living' thing to begin with. He was taking longer than everyone else had, but that was okay. He would adjust. There was no timer on this sort of thing, no deadline for when you are supposed to be used to things. It was just harder on him, but he would shake it off soon. Papyrus had to keep believing in him, if he believed in anything at all. He was going to be alright and going to Undyne's was good and not something he should be this nervous about. Sans was grown, he was capable of taking care of himself.

 

Right?

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Feeling helpless; as though they are not in control of their own destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys could see the look on my face every time I saw new kudos or comments for chapter one holy moly. Thank you so much. I'm always so timid about posting my stuff online so the positive feedback means more than you know.
> 
> Sans, I love you buddy. I'm sorry.
> 
> BTW: I will probably be posting update information on my [Tumblr](http://edwardtho.tumblr.com/)

_As soon as he leaves_ , Sans thought to himself, _as soon as I hear the car door slam and the engine revving_. He could simply teleport to the kitchen right in front of the refrigerator, open the door, grab the ketchup and vodka, and then teleport back to his bed. He wouldn't even have to force himself out of bed.

 

He knew good and well that it was a terrible idea to use his magic for frivolous things like that. Overuse, especially of teleportation, tended to cause over-stimulation and mind shocks and migraines and all sorts of body pain that he didn't need right now, when he was already miserable. However, weighed against the idea of trying to get out of bed and walk when he felt like this, he felt that physical pain was a small price to pay.

 

Besides, with enough alcohol, he could drown out the pain well enough. All of it, not just the physical.

 

As soon as Papyrus leaves, he thought. He listened in closely to the activity in the kitchen. Papyrus was on the phone with someone -Sans couldn't make out what he was saying- while running the sink and scrubbing something. Maybe he was doing the dishes. Sans drummed his fingers on his femur, wishing he would hurry up.

 

The light from the window stabbed into his eyes and he felt as if his skull was going to split in half. On top of that, it also shined down on the garbage dump that was his room these days, making something he normally brushed aside all too apparent and impossible to ignore. He wanted desperately to cover it again, although that too would require leaving the safety of his bed.

 

He looked around at the filth that surrounded him. It was horrible just how much trash was on his floor. Replace the trash with water and his room would be a kiddie pool. He was disgusted with himself, he didn't want to look at it. He honestly wanted to clean it, but god. He just couldn't.

 

That seemed to be his answer to everything lately. “He just couldn't.” He just couldn't go to work. He just couldn't clean his room. He just couldn't answer his phone. He just couldn't go outside. He just couldn't get out of bed. He just couldn't feel better.

 

It was a pathetic excuse, he knew, but he just couldn't think of anything more accurate.

 

He just couldn't.

 

 

 

He fished another cigarette out of the pack that was laying in his lap and lit it off the end of the one he'd just finished. He stubbed that one out on the nightstand. Not in the ashtray, just the top of the nightstand. Then, he took a big drag off of the fresh one, and tried to find the energy to gather just the tiniest amount of his magic. Just enough to cover the window without getting up.

 

It hurt. It hurt terribly. As soon as his eye began to glow the faintest shade of blue, pain exploded in his head and he gasped.

 

“Agh! God, fuck!” he whisper-shouted to himself, causing the cigarette to fall out of his mouth. It dropped onto the pink and purple comforter and began to burn a tiny hole into it. He didn't care. He clutched his head with both hands. “Fuuuuuuuuck” he whispered.

 

He waited for the pain to ebb away, and eventually it did. Very, very slowly. It felt like it could've been hours, not that he knew what hours felt like anymore. As he was coming out of it, he heard the shower running down the hallway.

 

“Seriously, Pap?” Sans said out loud to himself. He felt the need for the alcohol gaining a stronger hold on his attention, and wondered how the hell his brother could stand to be so clean all the time.

 

He grudgingly picked his cigarette up off of the bedspread, took little notice of the brown hole that was now present among the flower pattern, and took a tiny puff. The zing of nicotine rushed to his head, making it sting again but giving him a little energy. He wished he had coffee and thought maybe he should text his brother and ask for some, but quickly decided better of it. He could do this on his own. It wasn't that hard, right? It never used to be.

 

Sans took a large final drag off of his cigarette, held it in, and exhaled. Then he stubbed it out on the bedside table and took a deep breath, fixing his stare on the blanket on the ground in front of the window.

 

For a brief moment, he considered that perhaps it would just be easier to get out of bed and put it back manually. As a test, he tried to move his legs only to find that he couldn't. Not a single inch.

 

“Come on,” he grunted, staring down at his covered legs like they were his arch nemesis. “You're not fucking paralyzed. Move.” He concentrated hard, trying to remember _how_ exactly one moves their legs.

 

He flexed his arm for reference, noticing how brittle the bones there looked and not even remembering the last time he took a calcium supplement. That wasn't important though, the important thing was that he was in fact capable of moving that part of himself. He used his functional limbs to peel the covers off of his lower body, revealing his black basketball shorts and shins. He scowled at them. There was no excuse for this. Regardless of how much he laid in bed, he didn't have muscles that could atrophy. His spine wasn't broken, nor were any of the other 206 bones that made up his body. He should have been able to move just fine because _there was literally not a single thing wrong with him._

 

But he couldn't. He just couldn't.

 

He sighed woefully and pulled the cover back up, not only over his legs, but the rest of his body and head, too. It blocked out the light from the window just a little bit. All the other monsters from the Underground loved that big ball of radiation like it was their mother, and Sans just couldn't understand why. He too had thought it was nice to begin with, but it after . . . he didn't know how long it took, but after a little while the thing became too much to deal with for him. It was so bright, and it made the passing of time so painfully obvious.

 

Sans hated that word. _Time._ Thinking about it just for a split second made his figurative stomach clench. He thought of the invisible timer that was always counting down to the next reset, heard it ticking in his head. Tic, tic, tic. What's it gonna be this time, Sansy? When our buddy Frisk gets bored, are they gonna kill everybody again? Or would they experiment this time? Fuck with us a little? He didn't have to try too hard to imagine about fifteen thousand horrifying things the kid could do to or with Papyrus, just to see what either his or Sans' reactions would be. He began to picture things he never wanted to see and things he had seen and could never un-see.

 

 _And no matter what I do,_ he thought, _no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to stop them._

 

In the past, he used to log and count the resets (he stopped after 200) and wondered when the next one would be with overwhelming dread. At this point, he'd become so numb and almost used to it that he hardly knew how to tell time anymore. He could hardly tell the difference between a week and a month, an hour and a day. He wasn't even sure how long they'd been up here, mostly because he was convinced that it didn't matter. It would all go away sooner or later, and he'd wake up at his sentry post in Snowdin forest, go out to the thicker part of the woods, scream for who knows/cares how long, and then return just in time to see his good buddy Frisk coming out of the Ruins door. No one would remember anything.

 

 

Except for Frisk and Sans.

 

 

Despite everything they had put him through, Sans really didn't have contempt for the kid. He had more than every reason to, after all they had done, but no matter what, he couldn't find it in his heart to be mad at them. No matter how many times he watched Papyrus turn to dust at Frisk's hand. No matter how many times they killed Sans himself and gave him a glimmer of hope that it was finally over, just to resurrect him and throw him back into this endless hell again and again and again. He still couldn't hate them.

 

Perhaps it was just that he didn't even care enough to be mad at them. Being angry was futile, it wouldn't change anything about his situation, as would being sad. Being happy, though, was also futile, because anything that made him happy could be ripped away from him at any time. Being productive would just be a wasted effort. When everything could be gone tomorrow, was it really important to clean your room or hold a job? Was it really important to do _anything_?

 

Sans hated thinking about these things, but they were always on his mind. He just couldn't do anything to get the thoughts out of his head.

 

He just couldn't.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

“You okay, Paps? You seem a little stressed out,” Undyne's loud, gravelly voice reverberated off the walls as she stared down the skeleton with with concern.

 

“Y-yeah, you haven't talked very much since you g-got here,” Alphys stuttered, before ungracefully slurping tea out of her lizard-shaped teacup.

 

Papyrus sat cross-legged with a skull-shaped teacup in his hands on the couple's pink couch in the middle of the living room. It was situated conveniently in front of their massive wall-mounted television. They'd probably arranged it that way just for long anime binges. There were two cushy easy chairs with identical floral patterns on either side of the couch. Undyne sat in the one to his right, and Alphys in the one to his left. They both seemed to study him.

 

He stared into his teacup, trying not to be anxious or think about Sans. “I'm fine,” he said, “Not stressed.”

 

“You're a shitty liar,” Undyne said immediately, “You know you can talk to us. Right, Paps?”

 

Papyrus grimaced and said, “I'm not lying. Everything's fine. Really.”

 

Alphys muttered something into her teacup as if she were telling it a secret.

 

“You say something, Alph?” Undyne barked.

 

“U-uhh . . .” Alphys' eyes darted around anxiously. She curled her tail around her foot. “N-nothing.”

 

Undyne made a feeble attempt to soften her tone. “C'mon babe, say it.” It came out as more of a low growl. Papyrus wondered how these two worked so well, when Alphys was so antisocial and literally always radiating anxiety, and Undyne was so loud and abrasive. Opposites attract, he assumed.

 

“I-it's p-probably Sans,” the lizard said the phrase so low it easily could've been described as a whisper.

 

Papyrus glared at his tea. He felt Undyne's one eye on him but didn't dare look up.

 

“Yeah . . . Y'know, come to think of it, that lazy ass hasn't come to visit us a single time since we moved up here,” Undyne said suspiciously. Her stare was so hard it made Papyrus feel like he was about to burst into flames. “The last time I saw Sans was . . .” she thought for a moment, doing a few calculations in the air, “I think it was when I was helping you guys move into the new place. Yeah, that's right. I remember that because we argued about him sitting on the couch drinking ketchup while Paps and Asgore and I did all the work. Is he still mad about that?”

 

Papyrus felt as if he was about to be interrogated. “No, I don't think so,” he said quietly.

 

“He hasn't even called us. Or skyped, or written, or even texted or anything.”

 

“Well, you know how he is.” Papyrus suddenly got the urge to throw his teacup in the general direction of the sink and escape through the window. He'd come here to get his mind off of his brother for a little while, not be ruthlessly questioned about him. What was he supposed to tell them?

 

“Y-yeah,” Alphys chimed in, “I d-don't think he's made a-any social media accounts either. Or at least I h-haven't found him on any. Not, uh. N-not that that matters, I guess.”

 

Undyne watched her nervous girlfriend as she talked, and then promptly turned back to Papyrus, who flinched away from her scowl. “No, that DOES matter, Alph,” she said, “Pap. Is he dead, or something?”

 

“No,” he answered. Although Sans certainly seemed like he was going down that road.

 

“Are you gonna explain this shit, or what?” Undyne snarled angrily, “Because it seems to us like he's just disappeared from existence. Does he do anything? Does he have a job? Does he hang out with anyone? Does he leave the damn house at all?”

 

Papyrus had never in his life wanted to not have a conversation so badly. He clutched at his teacup, feeling a painful aching in his chest. He'd been wanting to cry since the second he'd walked into Sans' room that morning, but now was absolutely not the time to do so. He took a deep breath to fend off the threatening tears. “He's still adjusting,” was the only explanation he had to offer.

 

Undyne and Alphys looked at each other, and then turned back to Papyrus.

 

“Pap,” Undyne said worriedly.

 

“I-it's been a year a-and a half now,” Alphys said, and then immediately looked like she felt horrible for doing so.

 

Had it really been that long? Papyrus thought to himself, feeling not only tears but now panic boiling in his nonexistent insides.

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

Sans didn't even bother with a cup, he chugged directly from the bottle.

 

It had taken two hours worth of effort, but the skeleton had finally, finally managed to teleport to the kitchen and retrieve the ketchup and liquor. Only after his thoughts bordered on driving him completely insane (again) and after he'd taken out his aggression and frustration on the wall above his bed while screaming and crying (again) had the need for alcohol taken complete control of his consciousness. That need that was able to surpass any pain in his head, any difficulty that was getting out of bed. That need would do anything just to simply drink and forget.

 

And drink, he did.

 

Forgetting, though, was a bit harder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Substance Abuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing this chapter. I love drunk Sans.
> 
> Once again thank you for all the positive feedback. It really makes writing a lot more enjoyable when you know people are reading and enjoying it. I appreciate it so so so much <3
> 
> Enjoy the angst (tm)

 

 

 

“He's lost HOW many jobs?”

 

“Is he h-hurting h-himself?”

 

“Why won't he clean his damn room?”

 

“T-this is really b-bad. H-have you talked to anyone about this?”

 

“I mean, I know he's always been lazy, but . . .”

 

“A-are you doing anything to help him?”

 

“I'm gonna kick his ass for stressing you out like this!”

 

“. . . U-Undyne, p-please don't . . .”

 

 

The endless questioning really did seem to be endless. Papyrus had thought that telling the girls a little bit of the current situation with Sans would pacify them. He told them about the jobs, and his room, and how his phone was constantly dead, and how reclusive he'd been. But it seemed that, just like on Mettaton's quiz shows, his only reward seemed to be more questions. At some point, he had set his tea down on the coffee table, feeling too sick and anxious to drink anymore. He thought of a way out of this situation that didn't involve jumping out of the nearest window and came up empty.

 

“We should do an intervention!” Undyne bellowed.

 

That was a horrible idea. Papyrus sighed and shook his head 'no.' He was too tired of this discussion to say anything more.

 

Alphys spoke up next, “W-well, we have to do s-something.”

 

Papyrus closed his eyes and tried to zone out. Tried not to hear her.

 

“I-I mean. . . I-if he's . . . um . . . y-y'know, suicidal . . .”

 

Papyrus' eyes flashed open. He didn't hear the rest of her sentence. The last word had cut through his exhaustion like hot steel through butter. The weight of its meaning blurred his vision and made every bone in his body quiver. He felt sick – if he'd had a stomach, he probably would've thrown up.

 

He put a hand over his sternum, where his emotional pain hurt the worst. “Wh- H-he's not . . .” he stuttered, feeling panic rise in his chest, “God, p-please . . . Don't say that . . .”

 

Worrying that he might literally pass out, he gripped the couch cushion for support and did that thing Sans had taught him to do when his anxiety attacked.

 

_Inhale. Hold. One, two, three, four, five. Exhale. Hold. One, two, three, four, five. Inhale . . ._

 

Obviously that idea had occurred to him. Several times, actually. Many times. He didn't know for sure if his brother was . . . that . . . or not, but it definitely seemed that way. Someone actually putting it into words though, saying it out loud, was too much. It made the possibility too real.

 

_Hold. One, two, three, four, five. Exhale. Hold._

 

“Ah, shit, Pap. Are you okay?” He hadn't noticed when Undyne had left her chair to sit next to him on the couch until now. She rested a hand on his back and stroked along the vertebrae gently. Her expression was much softer.

 

 _One, two, three, four, five._ He couldn't answer her just yet. He shut his eyes tight and focused on his unnecessary breathing. _Inhale. Hold. One, two, three, four, five._

 

“Alph, I think we pushed him too hard,” She said as quietly as she could while still being herself. She squeezed Papyrus close to her, stroking him lightly as he continued his breathing.

 

 _Exhale. Hold. One, two, three, four, five._ Sans was not going to die. He was not going to kill himself. Good god, was he? _Inhale. Hold._ No, he wasn't. He would never do that. That was what Papyrus needed to tell himself right now. _One, two, three, four, five._ Sans was not going to die. Sans was not going to die. Papyrus would not have to try to survive without his brother. He would not have to find the perfect ketchup bottle to rub his dust on for the funeral. He would not have to look at his locked up empty room every night before bed. He would not have to cry every time he thought about peek-a-boo with fluffy bunny. He was not going to lose his brother. He would not. He would never-

 

 

_EXHALE! HOLD! ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE! INHALE! HOLD! ONE, TWO . . ._

 

He screamed at himself to breathe, to calm down, to stop thinking these things, but despite his best efforts, the tears finally started pouring. He curled into a tight ball in Undyne's arms, buried his face in his hands and let them fall. Once they started, once the dam had broken, it seemed as though it would never stop. Papyrus sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, occasionally making tiny squeals that vaguely resembled a rabbit that had been mortally wounded. The tears hurt. Every one that dripped from his eye sockets felt like they were made of hot acid, burning a path of hellfire down his cheekbones as they fell. There was nothing he could do to stop. If he had lungs, he imagined he'd probably be drowning right now. He thought in that moment that that would've been better, though. Dying was a much preferable option to living without his brother.

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

The more Sans drank, the easier it was to do things that he'd struggled with that morning. Putting the blanket back over the window, for example, he did without barely thinking. The only hard part now was being four feet tall and trying to hook the blanket on the curtain rod at the top of the window. That was what telekinesis was good for, he supposed. That and slamming brats who killed his brother against various walls.

 

His light in his eye socket glowed cyan blue. Magic essence of the same color that was not quite fire flowed from it, whipping around like a silken ribbon in the wind. For once, he wished he had a mirror in his room. He looked pretty cool when he sported the “bad time” look, as he liked to call it.

 

This time it was this too-damn-tall window that was gonna have a bad time.

 

“Ya think you're better 'an me, dontcha?” he slurred to the window, “cause you're so TALL and whatever, just like that bitch Undyne! Always tellin' me what a shitty piece a shitty shit I am, how terrible ofa brother I am.” He hiccuped, stumbled over some trash on the floor, and then continued, pointing his finger at the window, “BUTCHA KNOW WHAT?! J'st cause I'm small doesn't mean'm weak! I could FUCK YOU UP BUDDY.” He jabbed his finger hard towards it, and the momentum made him spin and fall face first into his sea of garbage. He groaned.

 

“Yeah, ya know what, fuck you too, buddy.” He didn't get up for a while, he just laid there in his own mess, trying not to fall asleep. In his stupor, he wondered if he could make the Gaster Blasters fire on himself, and just how hilarious that would be if he could. He attempted to snap and summon them, but his coordination was too out of whack, and instead he ended up lightly brushing his fingertips together.

 

“OH so now you guys hate me too!?” He called to the not-present blasters, “Not surprising but whatever fuck you too! Fuck ALL a this shit I don't need this fuckin' bullshit. Gaster is probably a dickhole anyway.” Whoever that was, if it was anyone at all.

 

He scowled back up at the window, determined to make it pay for that bit of humiliation. He crawled through what could've been a landfill to his nightstand, which he used to pull himself back up to a wobbly standing position. The bottle he'd been drinking from stood on top of it, right next to his hand. Upon seeing it, he decided he needed more of it and quickly grabbed it by the neck. He fumbled with the cap for a moment, got it off, threw it across the room, and then guzzled down a few more mouthfuls. He relished in the burning sensation it left in his throat and chest. It was disgusting, the cheapest stuff he was able to find, but one important lesson he'd learned in his life was the nastier the drink was, the more effective.

 

He placed the bottle back down - not realizing it was now empty - and turned back to his nemesis. The wretched pane of glass that went by the surname of Window, and its evil sidekick; the Ultra UV Death Ray, were about to meet their maker.

 

“It's a beautiful day outside,” the skeleton slurred, “The sun's too f'ck'n bright . . . Birds're . . . Blooming?” He swayed and stumbled, but then caught himself on his trusty nightstand before toppling over. “On days like these, muthafuckas like YOU” He pointed at it, “should be . . .”

 

He was too drunk to finish his sentence. So instead he focused all of his somewhat coherent thought on his magic, which prickled at his fingertips. He moved his hand clumsily, and picked up the blanket with his mind. It floated back and forth lazily in the air as he tried to decide which direction it was supposed to go. It knocked over a picture frame on the dresser - not that Sans cared – before he realized it needed to go up. He moved it upwards and straightened it into position, then focused on the top end of it. He made a circular motion with his hand, curling that part around the curtain rod. The light from the window promptly vanished, and his room was dark again. He'd defeated the cursed Window.

 

“Get . . .” he hiccuped, “Dunked on . . .” he muttered slowly. He felt victorious. Victoriously wasted.

 

To celebrate his victory, he took all his clothes off, and threw them aimlessly in various corners of the room. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. Then, wearing only his underwear, he sat back down on the bed and lit a cigarette.

 

Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, he wanted to die.

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

Alphys made frantic sounds that Papyrus could only vaguely hear past the sound of his crying. Some of them even came out as words.

 

“. . . O-oh my god. . . a-all my f-fault . . . shouldn't have said . . . “

 

“It's not your fault, babe,” Undyne said. She knelt on the floor in front of the couch to look up at Papyrus, with her hands on his elbows and shook him. “Pap, come on! Snap out of it, buddy! We didn't mean to upset-”

 

The shaking rattled Papyrus further and kicked his anxiety up a notch. His sobs became hysterical.

 

“Undyne!” Alphys snapped. There was a stern tone to her voice that Papyrus couldn't remember ever hearing from her before in his life. “H-he's having a p-panic attack, you have to be g-gentle! Sh-shaking him will only make it worse!” As she spoke, she hopped off of her chair, set her mug on the coffee table, and proceeded to push Undyne away from the skeleton.

 

Undyne let herself get pushed with no more protest than an angry huff. Papyrus was amazed, and assumed that Alphys and only Alphys was allowed to push Miss Hardcore around like that.

 

Alphys took both of his hands in hers and spoke gently. “C-calm down, Papyrus. I-I'm sorry about what I said, b-but, um. W-we just want to help you in any way we can.”

 

He began his breathing again while she talked to him, telling him everything was alright. Undyne watched in shock as Papyrus began to slowly calm down.

 

“Y-you okay now?”

 

He sniffled a few times, and leaned down to hug her. “I'm sorry,” he said, his voice rough from sobbing, “I have to go. I-I have to make sure he's alright,” He stood up and hastily grabbed his keys from the coffee table. “Thank you for the tea.”

 

And with that, he walked out the front door, leaving his mug on the coffee table and feeling their concerned faces staring after him.

 

 

 


	4. Putting Affairs in Order (not really)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update, this one and the next chapter were originally going to be together but I felt they'd be better received if they were broken up.
> 
> Sans may or may not be having a bad time.

 

 

 

 

 

Papyrus drove his little red convertible towards the house much too fast to be safe. He vaguely remembered going seventy-five in a fifty. Normally, he would've cared more about that, as he was an avidly cautious driver, but the only thing on his mind right now was getting back to Sans as fast as possible.

 

He checked the clock on the radio. It said 5:06 pm, but there was no way. He'd left at 1 . . . had he really been over there for four hours? How had that been four hours? He was usually so much better with time than this.

 

His mind raced, imagining in gruesome detail all of the horrifying things that could've happened to Sans in four hours. That one word Alphys had mentioned boomed and rang in his mind like a gong being struck over and over again.

 

He was probably drinking. Papyrus should have gotten rid of the vodka before he left. If he wasn't drinking, he was still just laying in bed smoking and thinking. He wondered if that would be better or worse. Sans' thoughts went really dark places when he was alone in his own head, or did they go darker places when his judgement was clouded? If he was under the influence he might be willing to do something that he wouldn't normally do because his thoughts and rational thinking were impaired.

 

 

Something he wouldn't normally do . . .

 

 

_'I-if he's . . . um . . . y-y'know, suicidal . . .'_

 

 

He tried to breathe and count as he drove. It didn't do anything for his nerves, but it kept his mind from going places he didn't want it to go.

 

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally pulled up to the driveway of their house. A feeling of intense dread dangled over him like a noose. Before he could start thinking about the irony of that analogy, he quickly turned off the car, got out, and dashed inside. He didn't even remember to lock it on his way.

 

He turned the doorknob – had he forgotten to lock that one too? God, it was like he was trying to get his brother killed – and went inside.

 

He did a quick perimeter of the living room, which seemed to be in the same condition he'd left it in this afternoon. Sans obviously hadn't been in here.

 

He called his brother's name and stepped into the kitchen for reasons he couldn't quite place. It seemed to be in good condition as well. The black and white tiles were polished neatly, the wooden table adorned with a golden flower was already set for dinner with the chairs tucked neatly underneath. The white linoleum counters were spotless, and the dishes inside of the glass cabinets were stacked with mathematical perfection. The fridge . . .

 

If he'd had a heart, he imagined it would've dropped to his feet.

 

The refrigerator door had been left wide open, and the vodka bottle that had been on the third shelf in the door had disappeared.

 

Papyrus swore – something the skeleton never, ever did – under his breath, and darted towards Sans' room, not bothering to close the refrigerator door.

 

He sprinted back through the living room and up the stairs – tripping on the top one and almost toppling over, but catching himself just in time – past his own door, and to his older brother's. He twisted the knob, but the damned thing was locked again.

 

Papyrus didn't even try to knock first, he immediately stepped back a few paces and proceeded to sprint at the locked door with frantic and desperate speed, kicking it down in one fell swoop. His foot hurt, but his panic kept him from noticing.

 

 

He didn't know if he had or hadn't expected the sight that fell upon him through the now naked door frame. His brother - who was also naked except for his boxers, socks and slippers - stood in the middle of the room atop the trash heap, tears streaming down his face as he stared into the jaws of a massive animistic skull. Not a skull like Sans' and Papyrus' own ones, but one that looked much more demonic and . . . honestly scary.

 

Papyrus knew what it was, how powerful it was. His soul stuck in his throat as he watched his big brother stare down the barrel of the magical equivalent to a missile launcher.

 

“Sans?” he said, his voice quivering like a frightened child. “Sans, what are you doing?”

 

 

_'I-if he's . . . um . . . y-y'know, suicidal . . .'_

 

 

Sans looked at him, and despite the fact that tears were pouring from his eye sockets, he simply smiled the way he did normally. The lights in his eyes were so distant that they seemed to be on another plane of existence.

 

Papyrus felt his own tears beginning to fall again. “Brother, please put that away!” he cried. It was more of a plead than a command like he'd intended.

 

Sans sighed and looked back up at the skull. “I need you to stay calm, bro.”

 

“Why do you have that out?” Papyrus whimpered, even though he knew the answer to his own question, “What are you doing? Have you been drinking? Sans please, please put it away. Those things are extremely dangerous, if it goes off . . . ”

 

God, Papyrus didn't want to think about what would happen if it went off.

 

Sans' eyes drooped, but he maintained his smile. His tears were falling faster although silently. “R-relax, bro. Deep breaths. Do the counting trick I showed you.” He was slurring hideously. “J-just close your eyes and relax, okay? Can you do that for me?”

 

Papyrus was sobbing now. “If I close them, will you still be here when I open them again?” His soul was about to explode from anxiety.

 

His brother was going to die. He was going to lose the most important person in the entire world.

 

Sans flinched and shuddered, seeming to lose his nerve a little.

 

Good, maybe if he lost enough of his nerve he wouldn't do it.

 

Feeling as though he were gaining ground, Papyrus inched toward his brother a bit, his hand outstretched. He was still sobbing. “Sans, I know you're hurting,” he said, “But please don't let it end this way. Please, god, don't let it end this way.”

 

 _Don't let him die,_ Papyrus screamed at himself,  _you can save him. Talk him out of it convince him not to do it do anything just don't let him kill himself oh god._

 

Sans didn't respond.

 

Who was going to read to Papyrus before bed? Who was going to comfort him when the nightmares got bad? Who was going to make horrible jokes that literally kept Papyrus sane? Undyne? Alphys? No. It wouldn't be the same. It would be wrong for them to do it. That was Sans' job.

 

Papyrus didn't want to live without his brother. He wasn't capable of it.

 

 _If you let him die, you deserve every bit of pain that comes out of it,_ he told himself,  _you deserve to die too._

 

“Please,” Papyrus continued, “I can help you, brother. I _want_ to help you. I believe in you so much, Sans, but I can't help you if you . . . if you . . .”

 

He couldn't finish.

 

“You can't help me, Pap.” Sans said, finally showing more evidence of the fact that he was crying. “You can't help me, I can't help me, no one can help me. I'm sorry. I'm real sorry, bro.”

 

 

 

And with that, he snapped, and Papyrus saw white light in the eyes of the Gaster Blaster as it charged its fire power.

 

 

“I love you so much, Papyrus. I'm so fucking sorry,” Sans sobbed.

 

 

The Skull opened its jaws.

 


	5. Uncharacteristic Risk-Taking or Recklessness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why can't i update on a regular schedule? because i'm horrible about sticking to schedules lmao. anyways the comments on the last chapter were great with a capital 8 like for real. you guys are so cool
> 
> Also thank you to my lovely girlfriend Alex who always encourages (or rather, begs) me to keep writing even when i'm in a rut. Love you my queen.
> 
> EDIT (delete later): The next chapter may take a while to come out. Not gonna bore you guys with the details but I'm feeling really, really low right now and when i feel like this everything i write turns out like garbage. I'm still gonna try, I'm just saying it might take a while. Until then feel free to message me on tumblr and tell me about your day or whatever idk.
> 
> That's all.

 

 

 

 

 

Blinded by sheer panic, Papyrus leaped in front of Sans, bending over and barring his arms tightly around him to protect him on all sides. He distantly heard “Wait, Pap, no!” and had just enough time to send out a defensive shield of bones to deflect the attack before the blaster fired.

 

 

Sans struggled to escape his grasp, yelling a string of profanity, as the thick spout of raw magic burst out of the jaws of the skull, headed straight for the two brothers. It cut through Papyrus' bone attack quickly - only minimally diffused by it - and then hit Papyrus himself square in the back. It seared through his red sweater, burning the back piece to almost nothing. He let out an agonized scream and clutched onto Sans as tightly as he could as the blast charred the surface of his spine and rib cage. It was absolutely excruciating. Tears streamed down his face from the pain and he the world was spinning, but he could take much, much more damage than Sans could, and until it was done firing, Papyrus had to stay conscious. He had to protect his brother, even if he died trying.

 

“Oh my God, _FUCK!_ ”

 

He could feel Sans wriggling in his arms and putting his small hand to his chest. He was going to try to turn Papyrus blue to shake him off, he realized numbly. In response, he crushed Sans tighter to his body and squeezed his arms around him with all the strength he had, hopefully to the point of incapacitating his arms.

 

“SANS” Papyrus hollered over the screeching of the blaster, “SANS SCATTER IT NOW”

 

“I-I can't!” Sans cried helplessly, “It's gotta run outta juice before I can do anything!”

 

The blast wasn't nearly as strong as it could've been, Papyrus noticed, because if it had been its normal strength, it could've blasted both of them right through the floor. It made sense. Sans was drunk, tired, and weak right now, and magic was only an extension of its caster. But even so, it was an extremely powerful attack, and if he stood in its path much longer he would soon be nothing more than a pile of dust. He tried to move, and realized that if he moved an inch in the wrong direction, the blast would hit Sans, who literally only had 1 defense.

 

Instead of taking that risk, he simply kept sobbing from the pain and holding onto his brother progressively tighter and tighter as his health drained lower and lower. It was at 1 when the attack finally ended, or 'ran out of juice' as Sans said. Once it was over, Papyrus had about a half second to be amazed at the fact that both of them were still alive before the world went black around him, and he collapsed to the floor.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

Sans fell to his knees beside his unconscious brother with a hand cupped to his mouth, crying and cursing. Spent magic fell around the two of them like shimmering snow, a vast contrast to the destruction that happened just a second ago.

 

The destruction that he'd caused. He'd feel more guilty about it later, but the situation hadn't completely sunken in yet and all he felt was dazed and numb. That didn't stop him from crying, though.

 

He realized he was still holding on to the front of Papyrus' sweater, but he didn't let go of it. Instead, he gripped onto it harder and curled into it. If he didn't deserve to die before, he certainly did now, beyond a shadow of a doubt. “God damn it,” he sobbed, and his sobs soon turned into screams, “GOD DAMN IT _GOD FUCKING DAMN IT_ ”

 

He almost killed Papyrus. The only person he'd ever cared about in his entire fucking life. The only reason he hadn't ended it up to this point. The only reason he'd stuck around for this long. The only reason he even woke up in the morning.

 

He literally almost killed his baby brother.

 

He was the worst person to ever exist in any timeline or universe imaginable.

 

Papyrus was sprawled on his front, but his face was turned towards him. Sans placed his shaking hand on his brother's cheek. It looked like he was still in pain, even though he was unconscious. He forced himself not to look at his back, which still had smoke coming from it.

 

He sobbed harder as the gravity of what he'd done sunk in. He had to get help immediately. Papyrus was inches away from being gone forever. Sans would have have time to berate himself later. Right now it was time to take a break from being World's Worst Brother for a minute.

 

Knowing his own phone was dead, he dug in Papyrus' pants pocket for his. He fished it out and turned on the screen. There were a few text notifications on his lock screen.

 

 **Undyne:** _“Call me tonight ok? We're kinda worried about you over here”_

 **Undyne:** _“I'm always here to listen if you need to vent or something”_

 **Undyne:** _“Love you, lil buddy”_

 

 **Alphys:** _“im so sorry for what I said earlier like im so sorry”_

 **Alphys:** _“sans is kinda like me in the fact that we both get rlly low sometimes and all he needs from you is support. just be there for him yknow?_

 **Alphys:** _“i understand if youre mad at me”_

 **Alphys:** _“im sorry”_

 

 

Sans didn't have time to wonder what had gone on over the the Alphyne house, as he liked to call it, or what those texts were all about. He wasn't one to meddle in his brother's personal business anyway. He unlocked the phone and called Alphys. She _was_ a doctor . . . right?

 

The phone rang a few times, and then went to voicemail.

 

_“H-hey, umm . . . th-this is Alphys. Um, y-you'll pr-probably have better luck texting me. Uh, yeah, bye.”_

 

He cursed and then tried to call again with the same result. He decided to take the advice she'd left in her voicemail and texted her, which proved to be very difficult when his vision was blurred by tears and intoxication.

 

 **You:**   _al_ _this is snas cll paps phone pls_

 

Almost the moment he'd sent the text, the phone began to ring. Her contact picture was a selfie of Alphys with anime eyes and cat ears photoshopped onto her face and head.

 

He answered and put the phone to his ear. “Alph!” he cried hysterically, “Alph, oh my god I need your help. Right now.”

 

“O-oh my god," she stammered, "S-sans, a-are you okay? Are y-you crying?”

 

“No, fuck, no I- I don't have time to explain. Please just come to the house. Bring the fish.”

 

“Hold on, wh-what's going on?”

 

“God, please just hurry or he's gonna fucking dust on me!”

 

“Wh-what?!”

 

Sans couldn't tell her what happened. Not yet. Partly because he was now crying so hard he couldn't form coherent words anymore. He heard her call to Undyne on the other end, then she said, “We're l-leaving right now. T-try to c-calm-”

 

He hung up on her, threw the phone in the corner of the room, then curled protectively over his brother and sobbed harder than he'd ever thought possible.

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

After what felt like a goddamn decade, Sans faintly heard the front door downstairs open and then shut again, followed by Alphys' nervous voice calling, “S-Sans? Pap-Papyrus? We're here!”

 

Sans' intense weeping had dissolved into quiet moans and sniffles. All that crying he'd done made him too exhausted to move. He stared blankly into the corner of the room, with his head laying on the back of Papyrus' shoulder, and focused numbly on a crumpled up Doritos bag that was laying on the floor. He couldn't feel anything anymore.

 

“PAP?” he heard Undyne's gravelly voice shout, “SANS?! Where the hell are you?” Heavy footsteps boomed on the wooden stairs as she started up them. Sans could barely hear any of that, though. He was somewhere else, far away from this house and his half-dead brother and the smell of charred bone. It wasn't a specific 'somewhere else' though, it was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He felt as though his mind had been disconnected from his body and was now floating in some deep dark outer space, eons and lightyears from reality. He questioned whether or not he still existed or if he was dead, and realized he was perfectly okay with the idea of not existing. Especially in the current reality.

 

“Oh my god!” Undyne hollered upon finding the empty door frame, “Babe, in here!” She flipped the light switch next to the door and gasped at what she saw. The two skeleton brothers were practically a puddle of bone, one unconscious with half of his sweater burned away, and the other one conscious but staring wide-eyed at nothing with an air and look of pure catatonia.

 

Alphys waddled through the frame and gasped. The two women looked at each other in horror and then back down to Sans and Papyrus. Undyne swore under her breath and ran to kneel beside them on the bed of trash they laid on.

 

“Wh- wh-” was all Alphys was currently able to stammer out, “wh-what h-happened?!”

 

“Dunno,” Undyne checked the exposed areas of Papyrus' back, which were now jet-black, “Smells . . . burnt?!” For being such a brute normally, Undyne was acting uncharacteristically panicked.

 

“You check on Sans, I gotta make sure no parts of Pap are starting to dust,” she said to Alphys with a faltering voice, “he's in bad shape.”

 

Alphys was so confused and anxious right now she couldn't get her mind to form cohesive thoughts, so she let her body act for her. She nodded quickly without a word and stepped gingerly through the trash over to the bone puddle in the center of the room, where she knelt down on the side opposite of her girlfriend. She situated herself in a more comfortable position with her legs crossed and began to gently lift Sans' limp form off of his brother's. Meanwhile, Undyne rustled around Papyrus, checking just about every inch of him.

 

Despite his figure, Sans wasn't heavy at all, even as a dead weight. Bone didn't weigh very much, and on top of that, he was about the height of a small child. Alphys rolled him off of Papyrus and onto her lap and cradled him in her arms. He laid face up, eyes wide open, staring blankly up at the ceiling and occasionally making faint whimpering noises. His cheeks were stained with tear tracks.

 

“S-Sans?” she said softly to him, trying not to let him sense her anxiety, “Sans, c-can you hear me? N-nod if you can hear me.”

 

Sans didn't nod, or blink, or anything. All he did was let out a very small high-pitched whine. Tears began to well up in the corner of his eye sockets.

 

“Did he nod?” Undyne barked without looking up, “Is he awake? Is he hurt?”

 

“I- n-no. He didn't nod, b-but he's definitely awake. N-Not hurt. Not p-physically anyway. H-he has to be in some sort of shock.”

 

Undyne looked down at Papyrus helplessly. “God, what the _fuck_ did you idiots do?! What do we have to do, get them a babysitter?”

 

Alphys didn't respond to her. Instead she kept her eyes trained on Sans' blank face and held his tiny body close to hers.

 

“Baby, we gotta get him home and nurse him. He's hanging by a fucking thread.” Undyne scowled down at the younger skeleton, obviously trying to hide how upset and scared she felt.

 

Alphys looked at her solemnly, and then back down at Sans. “C-can you get him to the c-car without touching his b-back?”

 

She nodded. “Yeah, no problem. Do you need me to get him too?” She pointed at the smaller skeleton in Alphys' lap.

 

“No, I can h-handle him. I-I don't wanna jostle him around too m-much.”

 

 

 

 

With silent understanding, the girls got to work, and in no time at all, the two of them were walking out the front door, each carrying a deeply damaged skeleton in their arms.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
